


And There's A Gentle High To The Condemnation

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: ColbertElectionSHO, Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: It's the mutual sense of defeat that brings them together.





	

After they wrap, Stephen goes up to his office without a word. It’s much easier to take the loser’s way, to hole himself up and lock the door and nod off towards the farthest confines of the room. Looking out the window, you’d never be able to tell that a quarter of the country was crumbling, that people were fearing for the four years to come. Somewhere, perhaps in one of the rooms down the hall, a t.v. is playing the news. All of his staff, like the rest of America huddled around the screen, watching, waiting. Watching for what happens next. Waiting for something to change.

4 a.m. It’s 4 a.m. and the other half of the country is asleep, dreaming, blissfully unaware. He sighs and leans against the wall. Nothingness has replaced the disappointment, and he can’t tell which is worst.

The sound of the door slowly creaking open startles him, and Stephen’s attention shifts.

“Stephen?” Jon sounds exhausted. He looks even worse, but Stephen doesn't tell him.

“Hey,” he tries to smile.

“How are you?” Jon asks as he closes the door behind him.

“Don’t want to talk about it.” Stephen shakes his head and meets him in the middle of the room. “How about you? Doing alright?”

Jon looks at the floor, and Stephen can almost see the gears turning. “Well, I’m- you know. This is it.” He laughs. For a split-second, Stephen is terrified. “This is it. It’s been called. It’s over,” Jon says again, quieter this time. “Everyone’s still here,” he adds. “It’s too late to drive home.”

“Makes sense,” Stephen nods. His head feels light as the information processes.

A beat passes. The low buzz of the lamp fills the air

“Really, though, how are you?” Jon says with a frown.

What is he supposed to say? He fumbles for the right words, tries to remember what he’d said when he went off-script earlier that night, but now isn’t the time for any profound analogies. He takes his glasses off and twists his face in thought.

“I… I’m disgusted. All of this... all of it has just been hate _._ It's just been intolerance and fear, and, just-  _God._ And I know it's my job to make jokes about it but fuck. I don't know if I can. This... entire thing- it’s almost been two years. I can't believe it. We had two _fucking_ years to get this shit right.” 

“I know, I know.” Jon opens his arms and Stephen lets himself fall into them. Jon holds him tight, like he’d never let go. It’s the mutual sense of defeat that brings them together, Stephen thinks, it’s the common feeling of dread. The last time they’d felt something like this was fifteen years ago, except Stephen was the one who’d been able to collect himself as he held Jon the day they all came back to work. “You did a great job tonight. You did your best,” Jon mumbles as they pull apart.

Stephen sniffles and waves his hand dismissively, “I don’t want to think about that right now. Where’s everyone else?”

“Everyone that matters? Writers’ room. They’re trying to figure out how the fuck they’re going to angle the show tomorrow.”

“Guess we should go then.” Stephen heads towards the door and he can feel Jon watching his back.

“You just won yourself four years’ worth of material,” Jon jokes, but the fact that the statement is now a reality makes it hit harder than it should.

Stephen pauses mid-stride, right underneath the door frame, and, not for the first time that night, he's not sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

**Author's Note:**

> we fucked up guys lol


End file.
